


two cats are better than one

by janie_tangerine



Series: jbweek 2018 [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cats, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, JBWeek2018, Jaime/Brienne Appreciation Week, Musical References, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, The Author Regrets Everything, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, blame both tumblr and youtube for this i'm sorry, cersei fans pls avoid this ty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 19:03:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16203740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: “Did you seriously leave a package with this on it just outside my door?” She asks, holding up his terrible sign reading CHILD SUPPORT in uneven handwriting.“What if I did?” He asks.“Then I’d like for you to tell me exactly what you meant,” she says.Or: in which Jaime's newly adopted catreallylikes Brienne's.





	two cats are better than one

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO AND WELCOME TO JBWEEK day six, _mother_ (sorry I'm posting it along with that other one because today I'm cosplaying for the entire day and I won't have time to put it up), which, in light of the actual long srs stuff you're getting Sunday, is 100% pure crack on a stick same as the previous one. Sorry not sorry.
> 
> Also: this was based on [this](http://janiedean.tumblr.com/post/177306860933/imagine-your-otp) tumblr post which I might have reworked a bit. Brienne's cat is 100% my invention, Jaime's cat is not so liberally inspired from the one featured on [this youtube channel](https://www.youtube.com/user/BonJoviTheCat), down to the name, but listen, if Jaime wouldn't own THAT cat my favorite asoiaf character is LF and sorry but the name was what about sold the entire thing, so. Have fun.
> 
> As usual: they're GRRM's, I own only the crack and the title is... a pun from a Springsteen song that will make 100% sense when you read this. I'M SORRY. *saunters not so vaguely downwards*

Brief, sad story: no one should need to actually get tipsy before walking into a damned cat shelter because that’s fucking _sad_ , but apparently that’s the point Jaime’s life is at and honestly, his life is fucking sad, period, so maybe that just makes sense.

Well, technically it’s sad that he’s even there in the first place, but since Cersei apparently had to buy off pictures from some tabloid that had caught them kissing on her balcony in order to not make her husband find out that they’re _involved_ and has thereby decided that _it’s not worth the risk anymore_ because she’s pregnant and a scandal just won’t do (at least it’s not _his_ ), and _just after_ his right hand got mauled beyond salvation because while trying to finish a painting he fell from the chair he had been standing on to adjust the light bulb and cut it against his heavy glass table, _after_ having had too much alcohol _because he wanted to avoid thinking about Cersei_ , well, his life has pretty much turned to utter shit. He can’t _paint_ with one damned hand only, at least for now when he’s still in recovery and hasn’t looked into other options, and while he’s managed to get by selling art in spite of his father’s plans for him he was better at _that_ than sculpting, his social circle has been shit since then and he could have done with _some_ support from _her_ , except —

Except that she apparently doesn’t care half as much as she always said and always made him think, and the last time Tyrion came by he told him that he looked like he was living in a damned dump, that he needed to step up his game and if he couldn’t, well, at least he could get a cat or _something_ for company since he couldn’t be there all the time.

Fair enough.

Which is why he’s at the damned cat shelter, except that he feels ridiculous and doesn’t even know how to care for one, but how hard can it be?

Well, he said he would, he _will._ Good thing he’s just tipsy.

He walks in, hears the whole spiel from the girl at the information desk and after filling a few forms this kid who can’t be older than twenty shows up, introduces himself as Pod and says he’ll give him a tour to see if any of their cats catches his attention.

Right. He follows him and is shown a bunch of cute kittens, which are _cute_ but honestly, he can barely cook his own dinner, he doubts he can handle _kittens_ , and the others are all beautiful animals and so on, but he doesn’t see one that really catches his attentions.

That is, until he hears some other volunteer screaming.

“Fuck,” she says as she holds her hand to her chest. A very bleeding hand.

“Jeyne, what’s — ah, that’s _him_ , isn’t it?” Pod says, sighing and moving closer to her as he shakes his head.

“Yeah,” she says. “I figured I’d try again, but — I don’t think it’s gonna work.”

“What isn’t gonna work, if I can ask?” Jaime butts in as Pod tells Jeyne to go get that hand bandaged.

“Him,” Pod sighs, nodding towards the nearest small cage.

Jaime looks inside it.

There’s a large cat with light brown fur, darker stripes and a pair of bright green eyes, not that different from his own, for that matter. A large cat who looks completely pissed off, with an ear half-torn off and who’s looking around himself as if he’s _this_ sure someone’s going to steal the tuna Jeyne left there before.

“And what’s his problem?”

“His _problems_ , maybe,” Pod says, shaking his head. “From what we could gather he was a stray and then someone took him in, and that someone was the bad kind of owner, and so now he’s angry as hell and scratches everyone he runs into, and like this, who knows who’ll take him. If nothing changes in a short time we’ll have to put him down, but we’re already self-run and self-financed, keeping him in the long run would cost us too much, especially if no one will have him.”

“Huh,” Jaime says, feeling like that story is _somehow_ familiar. “Can I…?” He asks, motioning for the cage.

“You sure?” Pod asks. “He scratches hard.”

Jaime shrugs. “Can’t do worse than what happened to the other hand,” he says, and while Pod doesn’t look _too_ sure, he nods.

“Your funeral if he bites you,” he says, opening the door so that Jaime can reach inside.

He does, cautiously, looking at the damned animal in the eye, and the cat looks _pissed_ but guess what —

“So am I,” he says under his breath as he extends his hand and runs his fingers over the cat’s head.

His hand _doesn’t_ get bitten off.

Huh. He dares actually trying to pet him, _very_ slowly and shallowly, but the cat actually crouches down on the ground and _lets him_ , still staring up at him.

“Man,” Pod whispers, “you’re a miracle worker. _How_ are you even doing it?”

“No idea,” Jaime answers, his mouth curling into a barely-there smile for the first time in what feels like months. Might be. “You said you’re gonna kill him if things don’t change, if he stays here?”

“Sadly, we’ll have to,” he answers.

Jaime looks at the cat’s eyes, thinking, _seems like we’re on the same boat, aren’t we_?

“And what if _I_ want him?” He asks, thinking that maybe he _did_ find a cat he can live with.

“Well, then it changes,” Pod says, grinning. “Admittedly, we should do background checks and all, but that he trusts you is already a miracle. Honest, if you come to my office we can just do the paperwork and you can bring him home.”

Well, Jaime decides, that was remarkably easy, but — better like that.

When the cat _purrs_ under his palm, he decides that yeah, maybe Tyrion did have a good idea.

——

“You _haven’t_ ,” Tyrion tells him a week later, cradling a hand to his chest that’s thankfully only scratched.

“Oh, I have,” Jaime replies with a smile as he reaches for the cat and pulls him out of reach of his brother.

“Listen, never mind that it’s _not_ fair in the slightest that this beast lets you manhandle him but has tried to claw out body parts of whoever else comes in contact with, but did you _seriously_ name him… _Bon Jovi_?”

Jaime sits back on the sofa, the cat about splayed over his legs, _absolutely_ not trying to maul his remaining hand.

“First, I don’t see why _my_ cat shouldn’t be named after the greatest band on this planet —”

“Bon Jovi are _not_ —”

“To _me_ they are,” Jaime interrupts him, “and it’s not like you didn’t know it.”

Tyrion rolls his eyes. “No, I absolutely _didn’t_ forget that summer when you only listened to _New Jersey_ until Cersei broke that vinyl.”

As if — Tyrion doesn’t know she actually threw it at him, but better that he has no clue.

“Well, you didn’t seem to hate it,” Jaime answers.

“I don’t hate it, but — never mind. If that’s what cheers you up. But like, _how_ isn’t he mauling you? _How_?”

Jaime smirks, running his fingers over the cat’s fur and entirely getting why people say it’s therapeutic. Sure, he’s going to need a lot of care and nice food and rest before it grows all back properly and that ear most likely will stay scarred, but — won’t his hand, as well?

“I think he can recognize kindred souls, same as _I_ could. Right, Bon Jovi?”

The cat purrs.

Tyrion makes a disgusted face, but it’s obvious he doesn’t mean it. “Well, this house doesn’t look like a tornado passed through it anymore and you’ve smiled at that beast more _now_ than I’ve seen you smiling at anyone in the last five years. I guess you’re just made for each other and shit. Just warn me when he starts being a decent living being to anyone other than just _you_ , though if you want my honest opinion you should have named him Lucifer. Or Ozzy, if you _really_ wanted to stick with rock music.”

“Excuse me, _he_ has never eaten a bat, he has better manners than that!” Jaime protests.

“… Yeah, _well_ , he doesn’t have manners, period, but whatever makes you happy. And as soon as he’s civilized just bring him to a veterinarian, _won’t you_?”

That’s a fair point, Jaime has to agree. “He already has an appointment two days from now, who do you take me for?”

“Good,” Tyrion says, standing up and tentatively reaching for the cat again —

Just to move his hand back when Bon Jovi pretty much bares his teeth.

“Okay, _okay_ , I’m not even trying anymore,” Tyrion rolls his eyes, and Jaime decides that _maybe_ he should try to get his cat to appreciate his brother some more, but — all in due time. Everyone at the shelter was shocked that the cat actually liked _him_ that much, it’s probably better to not push it.

And _honestly_ , being… the only one? It’s… he doesn’t want to say it makes him feel somehow special because it’d be fucking _stupid_ , but _maybe_ it does, a bit, and it feels nice, so he’s not going to complain about it. Not at all.

——

So, they go to the veterinarian. As Tyrion had predicted, the poor cat doesn’t want anyone else near, so the man settles on instructing Jaime on how to give him the proper shots and so on, as in, anything he can do with one hand.

“Well,” Dr. Rayder says after observing the situation, “I have a feeling that it’s… _not_ the right time to sterilize him, even if we _should_ do that. I mean, never mind that you’d have to put him under and I don’t know if I can let you do that, you said he comes from an abusive situation?”

“At the shelter they seemed to think so, yes,” Jaime replies.

“Listen, if he only trusts _you_ for some kind of unexplainable notion, because usually they aren’t this open with any strangers, he’s _not_ going to take it too well if we do it _now_. Just, make sure he stays inside the house and see me in six months or so? Or maybe even a year. I don’t know, but I’d like to do it when he’s more settled and doesn’t react so negatively to anyone other than you. I mean, he’s already old enough, it’s not we could have done it _before_ it became a problem. Just, I’ll give you leaflet on how to handle him if it shows that he’s in heat.”

“Sounds fair,” Jaime says, and anyway, there aren’t cats in the neighborhood, he thinks, unless he hasn’t noticed strays around. How hard can it be to make sure nothing _bad_ happens?

——

Admittedly, he _did_ notice someone was moving in the other house in front of his. He had also been half in mind of going over to check who it was and so on, if anything because he has a feeling that he needs to talk to people and meet someone that’s not his agent asking him if he’s ever going to come back to work again _somehow,_ and only going out to buy cat food is _not_ good for anyone’s health.

Except that just when the moving vans leave and he figures he’ll just go and check, it’s right on the other side of the road from his own place, someone rings the bell. He hadn’t been expecting anyone, but maybe it’s the mail?

He opens the door without checking.

 _Extremely_ bad idea.

“Cersei,” he says, trying to keep his tone neutral. “Fancy seeing you here. I could have been out.”

She sneers. “As if,” she says, “you _don’t_ go out.”

“I don’t want to know how you know, and I thought you made things perfectly clear last time we talked. What the hell are you even doing here?”

“You changed your number.”

“I suppose that wasn’t an inkling that if I didn’t give you the new one I _didn’t_ want to talk to you?”

“You’re being irrational.”

“Cersei, you _broke things off_ and you did it all yourself, I had a shit time after, you didn’t even bother to show up in the hospital, I think I don’t need to talk to you if I don’t want to.”

“About _that_ —”

“Cersei, if you thought on it and you want to take breaking things off back, sorry but you don’t get to do it now. I’m tired now, I was tired before, can you just fucking _go_?”

Her green eyes turn _angry_. “You’re not —” She starts, and then she _screams_.

He looks down.

Oh. There’s Bon Jovi. Who has clawed at her leg hard enough that not only her precious, soft silk stockings are torn, but she’s bleeding from it. She takes a step back, but the cat stalks onward and proceeds to do that on her other leg, and when she tries to kick him with her heels, he jumps back _very_ fast — right _at him_.

Jaime grabs him and holds him against his chest.

“What the — what is that beast?” Cersei asks, sounding so pissed off it would almost be hilarious, if it wasn’t right in his face.

“My new cat,” Jaime says, making sure she notices that he’s doing no such thing to _him_. “Who tends to dislike about anyone that’s not me, and honestly, I’m not above telling him to do it _again_ if it gets you to leave me the hell alone and figure my shit out, so how about you let me?”

She stares at him, and he stares back, and he hopes he can hold it enough to make her leave, and then she sneers, heads back to the limo parked in front of the house and drives away.

He forgets everything about visiting the neighbor as he breathes out, slams the door closed and drops sitting on the sofa, the cat staying curled on his lap as if he feels perfectly comfortable.

A moment later, he meows and licks at his right wrist, right over the scarred tissue. Jaime kind of wants to cry, but he _won’t_ — shit, he’s _done_ crying over Cersei, damn it.

“Thank you,” he says, figuring the cat won’t know but maybe he can feel it, as he strokes through that striped, soft fur with his whole hand. Honestly, it’s kind of hilarious now that he thinks about it, because honestly, the reason he was actually into Bon Jovi in the first place was that they’re… not… _downers_ and that most of those lyrics weren’t _stupid_ but at least were uplifting and they could always put him in a good mood, while Cersei _always_ hated what she dubbed his _trash music played by people who can’t dress_. Who also had exceedingly sappy lyrics — too much for her tastes. And she broke that vinyl because apparently she _hated_ a few choice lyrics on it and she didn’t like _Living in Sin_ at all, when it was _his favorite_ , technically.

And _of course_ , she hated that at some point if he felt down he’d just put on some music rather than talk to _her_.

He named his cat for the one band that never failed to lift his mood up.

She always hated it.

Stands to reason that cat would hate her, too, doesn’t it?

He smiles sadly, wishing he hadn’t wasted his life after her, and decides that Bon Jovi’s getting double portions of crunchies, at least this evening.

——

So: in that mess, he completely forgets about the neighbor.

Which is how he doesn’t realize that the neighbor _also_ has a cat. Of the female variety.

He also misses the symptoms in that leaflet — he lets the cat do his business outside, what’s the point of having a garden if he doesn’t even let him do _that_ , so he doesn’t track count of _how many_ times he does, and maybe one evening he forgets to close the window in his room because it was too fucking hot.

And that’s how a month after, someone knocks at his door at seven in the evening and no warning.

He checks this time, before opening.

And — all right. _Definitely_ not Cersei, he thinks as he opens the door and finds himself in front of a an extremely woman, actually slightly taller than _him_ , with wider shoulders, a nose that’s been visibly broken at least twice, _very_ full lips and freckles all over her cheeks. Her straw blonde hair is falling straight on her shoulders and she’s wearing an old leather jacket with a nondescript pair of jeans and masculine boots. Definitely _not_ what you’d call _immediately_ attractive, even if she has a lovely pair of large blue eyes with long eyelashes that are certainly breathtaking.

And she’s holding a cat in her arms. Not _his_ cat. Rather, a large, fluffy white cat of the female variety with blue eyes _almost_ as pretty as hers and a similarly blue collar around her neck.

“Can I help you?” He asks.

She clears her throat. “Uh, maybe. Well, I don’t know if you can _help_ me, but — I’m the new neighbor. I moved just across the road a month ago.”

And she has a _nice_ voice, admittedly.

“Oh, right. I noticed,” he says, pretty lamely, all things considered, but it’s not like he has anything better to offer..

“And — she’s my cat,” she goes on. “Now, I _should_ have had her sterilized next week, but it seems like she’s expecting, and I noticed a cat with black stripes around my garden a week ago or so, I asked around and people said he was yours.”

Ah, _fuck_. “Shit,” Jaime says, “one week ago was when I left my window open, he must have taken a stroll. I’m sorry,” he says sincerely, “it’s not really a good time now and that cat — he’s a difficult case, I guess.”

“Difficult?”

“I’m apparently the only person he doesn’t hate,” Jaime shrugs. “Actually, is _your_ cat fine?”

The woman nods. “Spring is doing great,” she says, “other than the obvious. Anyway, I understand that this happens and I can’t fault you for sleeping with the window open, but I figured, since she’s going to have kittens in two months tops and I don’t know if I can handle it, maybe since _your_ cat was the culprit you could try to find someone who might want them?”

“That — that seems fair,” he agrees, figuring that she’s asking basically nothing. He can ask Tyrion to find him someone else, he supposes, if he really can’t manage himself. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

Months ago he’d have just told her to get lost.

But the more he and Cersei didn’t speak to each other, the less anger at the world in general he feels — he’s more tired than angry, honestly —, and he _did_ want to go check on her before, and —

“Hey, well, since you came all the way, maybe you and — _Spring_ want some tea? I mean, you’re not even asking for anything when _my_ cat did the deed, I might as well.”

She sends him a surprised look, as if she hadn’t expected it _at all_.

“Oh,” she says, sounding a lot more awkward now. “Sure. Thank you. By the way, I’m Brienne, sorry if I don’t shake hands, but —”

“Please, don’t drop her,” he smirks. “I’m Jaime, sorry if I can’t shake the right one,” he says, hoping that she realizes he doesn’t want things around that to be weird.

She nods, walks inside and heads straight for the sofa. He goes to pour some of the tea he had made just ten minutes ago, so it’s still hot, and brings her a cup as she lets her cat go, but she doesn’t stray too far, merely jumps at her feet and stays there.

“Well-behaved,” he smirks.

“Why, yours isn’t?”

“Nah,” Jaime says, sitting down in front of her, “they were going to put him down when I went to that shelter.”

“ _Really_?” She asks. “Why?”

“Apparently he was a stray before and then got a shitty owner. The only person he hasn’t mauled up until now has been me, that was why I asked about the other one,” he explains, and a moment later his own cat walks into the room, and —

Goes _straight_ to Brienne’s, _curling down next to her_ and licking at her nose.

 _What_ —

“The hell,” Jaime says, “from what I heard at the shelter he was aggressive also with _other_ cats.”

“Maybe he likes her,” Brienne says, her large fingers clutching the mug as she takes a sip. For being so imposing she certainly doesn’t use her figure to _impose on others_. “Uh, can I?” She asks, reaching down but stopping herself before she can touch Bon Jovi.

“Be my guest,” Jaime says, “but he usually doesn’t take it too well.”

“I’ll remember that,” she says, not sounding too impressed, and reaches down to pet him.

Jaime stares as his usually angry as hell cat stays _absolutely_ still as she runs her fingers behind his ears.

“Wow,” he says, “seems like I’m _not_ Bon Jovi’s favorite anymore, huh?”

“ _Wait_ ,” she says, “your cat’s name's _Bon Jovi_?”

“Is this the moment where you ask me why am I into a band no serious person should be into _or_ has-been hair metal bands whose lyrics are still too sappy?” He jokes, even if not _that_ much as he’s been told that time and time again, but instead of confirming it, she starts laughing.

 _Hard_.

Which is weird as hell because she was all tight and strung up and she looked like she felt totally out of place, but now that she’s laughing her shoulders are looser and her eyes are lightening up, and maybe she’s not pretty but it’s a better look on her than _not_ , and —

“I’m sorry,” she wheezes, “it’s just — oh my, I can’t believe — when I got her, she was a present from a couple of friends who — well, they went into the shelter half-drunk and got a kitten and they were sure it was a male kitten, and no one found out until after I named her, and — Spring’s not the full name.”

“… It’s not?”

“No. When I thought she was a he, uh, the name… was actually Springsteen. But then — well, I shortened it,” she says, her freckles standing out over her blushing cheeks, and —

“Wait, you’re telling me her name’s — oh my _fucking_ — Bon Jovi _and_ Springsteen?” He snorts, unable to keep it in.

“See why I thought it was _really_ amusing?” She asks, wiping at his eyes, and then they look at each other and erupt into another laughing fit.

 _Of course it’s fucking funny_ , he thinks as he wipes at his own eyes. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah, I can see that. Well, you have good taste.”

“Thanks,” she says, sounding suddenly way less self-conscious. “You as well. I mean, I’m not too much into their hair metal phase, but the nineties? Can totally see the point.”

“Well, your guy tends to go a bit too dark for my tastes at times but without him _my_ guys wouldn’t be around, so it all evens out.”

“Fair enough,” she says, and they spend the rest of the evening discussing music and fine, even if their tastes don’t _absolutely_ overlap, they’re pretty much in the same range and she knows her seventies and eighties _and_ her Springsteen bootleg list, and by the time it’s dark outside they finished the tea and she excuses herself saying she has an early shift tomorrow, but she does look like she had a good time.

“Let me know if you find someone for those kittens, then,” she tells him.

“Sure,” he says. “See you around.”

“See you around,” she agrees, bringing her beautiful, fluffy cat with.

Bon Jovi about _whines_ at his feet.

“Guess you _do_ like _Springsteen_ , don’t you?” Jaime asks, kneeling down to scratch at his ears.

Still.

He didn’t just like the other cat.

He liked _Brienne_ , didn’t he?

——

They do see each other around for the next month or so. He asks updates on the pregnancy, she gives him cat tips because apparently he was making it up as he went along, and regardless of how good he was at it, _apparently_ , maybe there were a few things he _could_ have known from before.

She invites him for tea once, looking like she’s set up for rejection — he doesn’t ask her why and goes. Her house is smaller than his own, he has two floors and she only has one, but she’s tidier than he is, and after noticing the _five_ Springsteen posters (with or without the E-Street Band) lined on her walls, he thinks he’s not surprised of how she named the damned cat.

“I see,” he says as she hands him his cup in a kitchen whose only free wall is occupied by a _very_ tall poster with the _Born in the USA_ cover on it, “that you _do_ have a thing for nice asses.”

She chokes on the tea she was sipping. “ _Seriously_?”

“You hung _that_ in the kitchen,” he says, “what is a man supposed to think? And that said, no one’s judging you. I mean, not into guys generally, but that’s objectively one fine ass.”

Brienne almost spits the tea. “Well, good to know you approve,” she says after she recovers, a hint of sarcasm in her tone, and shit, he thinks he likes her.

As much as you can like someone you met because their cat is going to have yours’s kittens, _anyway_.

Or maybe it’s just how regular friendships work and he’s just finding out yet, since it’s not like he’s ever had that many of them on his own.

——

It goes on like that until a week before the kittens are due. He comes back from a walk from the supermarket to find her sitting outside her house, wiping at her eyes, looking like she’s cried for a month, and with — _his_ damned cat perched at her feet?

“What the hell just happened?” He asks, stalking into her garden. She shrugs, wipes at her face again.

“I was supposed to go on… this date with a guy from work,” she says.

“I imagine you _didn’t_?”

“Well, I was _about_ to, but then my intern called me saying that he overheard him and a few other guys in the men’s bathroom talking about how it was supposedly a bet this asshole was going to win if we had sex —”

“… Sorry, how old are these people?”

“Early thirties,” she shrugs. “I _know_. Anyway, I waited for him to get here, I confronted him, he didn’t deny it, said that honestly the flowers had been a waste of money because I couldn’t get farther than _that_ , and left.” She nods towards a red roses bouquet smacked inside her trash can. “Then _your_ cat showed up out of nowhere and ruined his dress pants _and_ made him bleed _profusely_ , and I didn’t stop him, and he left. And — well, I was having a moment,” she sighs, “but I’m fine. I mean, wouldn’t be the first time. I just was hoping they’d be more mature than _that_.”

“ _Not the first time_?” He asks as Bon Jovi moves towards him — he picks him up distractedly.

“Happened in middle school as well,” she sighs. “Never mind. That’s why I should just stop deluding myself into this whole mess, I _know_ how it is. But — well, I can’t say Bon Jovi over there wasn’t a lifesaver.”

“Oh, he has a lot of not so hidden qualities,” Jaime says as she stands up.

“He does,” Brienne agrees. “Anyway, I — should probably go back in.”

He’s about to ask her if he can do anything for her, but she probably reads it on his face. “Really. Not the first time. I’ll be fine,” she smiles, very bravely and very falsely, and then she bolts inside the house.

Fuck’s sake. He’s about to knock, but she obviously wants to be alone, so he goes back to his place with the cat in his arms, and thinks, _what fucking assholes_.

Now: realizing you actually _like_ someone while opening the door and walking inside your extremely dark, untidy house is probably _sad_ , but — never mind _that_.

Thing is — he feels angry that she got such shitty experience with guys, and she deserves _immensely_ better, and to be honest he does like her (the eyes are _really_ pretty and she has a damned nice pair of legs and he likes her damned _personality,_ for fuck’s sake) and on top of that, his cat actually likes her.

Maybe —

“I should tell her, shouldn’t I?”

Bon Jovi just stares at him from the top of the kitchen table.

“Let me guess, you really want to have another go or two with _Springsteen_ , too?”

The cat meows, obviously pleased at the prospect.

Thing is, Jaime has absolutely _no_ idea of how he should handle this. He’s never had to put a move on anyone, he’s never asked anyone out (he had Cersei, why would he?), and she already is starting from the idea that no one would do it for real, how is he supposed to —

 _Wait a goddamned moment_.

It’s probably a very dumb idea, but — he has _two_ floors, and space, and _money_ , and she lives in front of him, and how many kittens can her cat have at once? Five? Six? He doesn’t know, but he thinks, _nothing undoable_.

Maybe —

He stands up, locks the window, brightly tells Bon Jovi he’ll be right back, and walks towards the nearby supermarket.

He has some shopping to do.

——

At the end of it, the package is _terrible_. He did try to pack together the items he chose as carefully as possible, but he has _one_ hand and he always was shit at packages in the first place, so he can’t go beyond wrapping a newspaper around the bundle, writing down on a piece of paper the message in _terrible_ handwriting, sticking it to the newspaper and call it a day.

Well, it’s going to have to work.

He waits until six AM or so — she always goes out in the garden for fresh air and yoga at six thirty and he knows because he noticed a few times when he couldn’t sleep and noticed her doing it outside, and he had maybe pondered asking her if he could join, but never did. He places it in front of her door, then goes back inside his living room, makes himself some coffee while Bon Jovi nips at his crunchies, and waits.

She walks out of the door punctual as usual, wearing white yoga pants that absolutely show off her long, muscular legs, and stares down at the package as if she can barely believe her eyes. She turns it around, rips off the newspaper and —

Starts _laughing_ , but it’s the _good_ kind of. The kind that he’s sure makes her eyes sparkle, the same way she had when she found out how his cat was named, and —

She shakes her head, runs off the lawn, crosses the road in bare feet until she reaches his door and he’s opened it before he can knock.

“Did you _seriously_ leave a package with _this_ on it just outside my door?” She asks, holding up his terrible sign reading _CHILD SUPPORT_ in uneven handwriting.

“What if I did?” He asks.

“Then I’d like for you to tell me _exactly_ what you meant,” she says.

“That I have enough space for those kittens in the first place and maybe we don’t have to give them away, and that while _Bon Jovi_ most likely wants to spend a lot more time with _Springsteen_ , it might be the case that — well. He’s not the only one around here, but I don’t mean your _cat_.”

“I should hope,” she snorts, and damn but he really likes her laugh, but then she turns serious again. “Wait, _really_?”

“Yes,” he says, “Really. Listen, I’m _shit_ at this, I never actually had to put effort into asking people out, I’m currently just out of the worst year of my entire life and the only reason this house isn’t a complete fucking mess is that dumb cat who hasn’t only mauled _you_ out of anyone I came into contact with, so I understand I’m not a great prospect, but hey, I didn’t get you flowers, did I?”

She stares at him, as if she wants to ask him if he’s for real or not, but then she shakes her head, takes a step forward, and —

“I don’t think your cat is dumb _at all_ ,” she says, and then, “I can’t believe I’m doing _this_ ,” and then —

Then her mouth is on his and since he’s _not_ an idiot who looks at gift horses in the mouth, he kisses her back without even blinking, and _shit_ , he thinks, she’s not a bad kisser at all, and her hands are carding through his hair with uttermost care as her tongue meets his, and he moans lightly into her mouth as he finally reaches up to grasp at her shoulders, _really_ linking how she feels against him even if she’s slightly larger.

When they part, he feels like he’s run half a marathon and he totally is about to do it again, except that then she glances at her back to check on something and —

“Oh,” she says, “look at them.”

He glances at the opposite side of the road. Springsteen is lying on Brienne’s porch, not moving (but of course, since she’s due soon), and Bon Jovi’s tail is curled protectively around her.

“Well,” Brienne says, “would be a pity to be in the middle of _their_ romance now, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” he says, just before dragging her head slightly downward and kissing her again.

Maybe the child support was a dumb idea, but it sure as hell it did work, didn’t it?

——

“Oh my _God_ ,” Tyrion groans two weeks later, “you’re made for each other.”

“Good to hear that,” Jaime grins back, “that bodes well for the future.”

“Nice to know I have the family’s approval,” Brienne quips back, checking over the large basket with the five kittens inside, petting the one they picked before for _this_ specific purpose — green eyes _but_ white fur same as the mother.

“And people used to tell _me_ I was a nerd.” Tyrion shakes his head. “This is a _whole other level_ of it.”

“Come on, that’s not _so_ nerdy,” Jaime protests.

“Jaime, your cats are _Bon Jovi_ and _Springsteen_ and you named those poor kittens _Elvis_ , _Little Steven_ , _Tommy_ and _Gina,_ that’s like, beyond the concept of _nerd_. Tommy and Gina? Seriously?”

“Well,” he says as Brienne picks up _that_ one kitten, “I decided you should get the fifth and we decided he should be Coltrane, but if you think you can find him a better one —”

At _that_ , Tyrion stops looking like he wants to make fun of them and his mismatched eyes go from amused to… touched? “Wait, _seriously_?”

“Why, you think I don’t remember what music you like?” Jaime says. “Come on, don’t be an idiot and pick him, none of them took after their father.”

Brienne deposits the kitten in Tyrion’s hands before going back to check on _her_ cat, who is currently lying in another basket with Bon Jovi curled around her, and guess what, he doesn’t bite her at all.

“That one is _really_ calm,” she smirks. “Calmest of all of them, from what it seems.”

“Yeah, and _Bon Jovi_ still tried to maim me before but not you,” Tyrion says, but he doesn’t seem too offended anymore.

“He has good taste, same as the owner,” Jaime says at once, and Brienne blushes red before telling him to shut up, but she doesn’t do that with much conviction, not as she makes sure both their cats are settled and reaches him on the sofa, their fingers threading together.

“Well,” Tyrion says, “I’ll gracefully accept your gift, as long as if one of them turns out to be like their father, _please_ gift it to Cersei.”

“Oh, I really might,” Jaime grins, just as Brienne squeezes his fingers, and — yeah, he thinks, bringing that cat home?

Best damned decision he’s ever made.

 

End.


End file.
